


wouldn't it be easy to believe

by apollonian, the_problem_with_stardust



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Russian Mythology, Stilinski Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:36:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15407151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apollonian/pseuds/apollonian, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_problem_with_stardust/pseuds/the_problem_with_stardust
Summary: He couldn’t use the compass to ensure he wasn’t just walking in circles, or even check how much time he’d wasted on this likely wild goose chase. He was sure the old lady –babushka, she had insisted he call her – was sitting at home, her air conditioning on at full blast, laughing at him with a bottle of vodka in her hand.In which Stiles is sent on a quest, plagued by mosquitoes and odd cat photos, and ends up with something (someone) that makes it all worth it.





	wouldn't it be easy to believe

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Sterek Reverse Bang 2018, for the lovely art created by [the_problem_with_stardust](https://theproblemwithstardust.tumblr.com/). You can see the art (customized for this story, because Jack, the artist, is a wonderful human) at the end of the work, and also reblog it on tumblr here (link to be added). 
> 
> This story was born when I was eating pastila and looking through various types of unicorns in different mythologies, so I decided to run with it and incorporate/play with a lot of Russian fairy tale elements (based on what I could remember from a Russian folklore course taken two years ago and Google). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! The cat photos mentioned are real, follow the links in the work to see them :)
> 
> Thank you to the mods for being patient with me and for organizing this event again - I loved participating in it and hope to do it again next year! Thanks also to my friend C for beta-ing so quickly, any remaining mistakes are all mine. Finally, thanks again to the_problem_with_stardust for the amazing, inspiring art! 
> 
> Title is from Fresh Strawberries by Franz Ferdinand.

Stiles trudged through the Preserve, grumbling to himself. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck, making his shirt stick uncomfortably to his skin, and his feet felt like they were going to melt in his sneakers. If this had been any ordinary walk through the woods, he would be enjoying the sunlight filtering in through the green of the canopy above, the soft sounds of birds chattering around him, the occasional rabbit that ran across in front of him.

As it was though, he estimated he’d been out here for at least 45 minutes, and somehow managed to acquire seven mosquito bites in that time, all without even glimpsing the firebird he was supposed to be looking for.

Stiles sighed and glanced down at his phone, turning on the screen to see a picture of a  [cat standing on a hoard of potatoes](http://russiacore.tumblr.com/post/170937616702/russiacore-americans-are-sleep-post-potato) staring back at him. The most infuriating part was that the old lady had done something to his phone so that all it showed him was pictures of cats in odd circumstances, and nothing else. He couldn’t use the compass to ensure he wasn’t just walking in circles, or even check how much time he’d wasted on this likely wild goose chase. He was sure the old lady – _babushka_ , she had insisted he call her – was sitting at home, her air conditioning on at full blast, laughing at him with a bottle of vodka in her hand.

He stuffed his phone back into the pocket of his pants and debated just giving up and heading back to the lady’s yard, where she’d started this whole misadventure by giving him some vague clues and pushing him out into the Preserve. He’d let her know calmly yet still forcefully that he wasn’t going to be taken in by this practical joke any longer, and then hop into his Jeep as gracefully as he could, and head home, where he could crash in front of the TV with a cold drink in his hand.

Lost in imagining the lady’s reactions to his early, empty-handed return, Stiles stumbled over a tree root and slipped on some moss, almost falling. His heart leapt into his throat and his right foot sparked with pain. He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, and breathed for a moment.

He let the fantasies float away reluctantly. He knew that he wouldn’t do it. The creatures she had mentioned he would meet – the mysterious firebird and the unicorn and the gray wolf – were all intriguing in their own right, but not enough to keep him going on a hot summer day with no set reward at the end. Babushka must have known that, because she had casually dropped a line about how his mother, too, had completed a similar quest, and had found true happiness at the end of it.

Stiles had had so many questions at the tip of his tongue, ready to go, but the mere mention of his mother’s name had shocked him speechless. As he had processed that tidbit of information, the old lady had grabbed his shoulder with an unexpectedly strong grip, and led him into the forest. She had left him there with a pat on the back, a saucy wink, and the impression of laughter fading away as she vanished.

The notion of finding one more piece of his mom, something he’d never known about her, was a lure he could have never walked away from. His mom had always told him that one day, when he was older, she would tell him the story of her and his dad’s first meeting, but that had never come to pass. Stiles had never mustered up the courage to ask his dad once she was gone, and his dad had never volunteered the information either. Stiles didn’t know what or how the babushka knew about it, but she had dangled the bait in front of him, and so he had steeled himself and set out to hunt for the first creature, the firebird.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t frustrated as hell right now, though. He pushed the thought of his mom out of his mind and scratched at the mosquito bite on his shoulder. If only a bottle of cold water would appear in his hands, along with some of the babushka’s delicious pastila. Stiles’ mouth watered at the thought. He hadn’t had breakfast before he had gone to visit the old lady at 11 in the morning, for the third day in the row, because, well, he had wanted to make sure he had enough space to eat whatever delicacies she gave him. That had obviously backfired. He’d been trapped by his own greed, and _that_ sounded like something straight out of a book of folk tales. Scott would die laughing if he was here right now.

Actually, if he really thought about it, he could lay the blame for all this on Scott. Scott was the one who’d decided to take some summer classes so that he could start vet school in the fall all prepped and ready to go, thus leaving Stiles in Beacon Hills with a fresh bachelor’s degree, no significant other since he’d broken up with his ex a few months into his senior year, and nothing to do until August, when grad school loomed large in front of him.

No Scott meant that Stiles was lazily making his way through Beacon Hills’ various establishments, in lieu of annoying his father down at the station, and on his fifth trip to the library, he had literally run straight into the old lady. Mortified, he had helped her pick up the various cook books and murder mysteries she’d checked out, and she had promptly invited him to her house for snacks.

Not one to give up on free food, Stiles had agreed, and that first day, she had fed him apple pastila and plum juice, telling him stories about her life in Russia that he wasn’t entirely sure were true but wasn’t entirely sure they _weren’t_ true either. He’d enjoyed the experience so much that he’d gone back the next day, and he’d been stuffed with kvass and sweet pirozhki, and regaled with more stories, a number of which seemed to involve various men named Ivan.

The third day, today, he’d arrived at her house, bright and early (okay, bright and early for the summer, not for normal people with jobs and classes and such) and ready to dig in. Instead, she had greeted him with a wide grin, patting him on the back and saying, “I _knew_ you were the one! You came back again to visit babushka for the third day, and for this, you’ll receive a reward.”

He had followed her uncertainly through her house, out into her yard that backed up to the Preserve, and then, following a blindingly fast chain of events, he was here, looking for some fictional bird that refused to just show itself.

No sooner had Stiles thought that when a gleam of light caught his eye up ahead. He slapped another mosquito away and then moved as quietly as he could towards the light, stopping at the edge of a clearing.  It turned out to be a golden cage, sitting on top of a solid gold pole that stood at the center of the clearing, surrounded by a ring of small white flowers. The sunlight glinted off the bars of the cage, but it hardly compared to the brightness of the bird resting inside it. Its sleek feathers were a vivid red-orange at the center, shading out to a warm yellow at the tips. With each movement of the bird, they rustled and emanated a light so bright it should have blinded Stiles. Instead, it just made him feel welcomed, drawn towards the bird by an inexplicable desire to touch it, stroke its feathers and feel the source of the brilliance with his own hands.

Stiles stepped forward, slowly, involuntarily. Hand outstretched, he drew closer and closer to the cage and the bird, and then yelped when his fingers made contact with the cage and a searing pain shot through him. He clutched his hand to his chest and staggered back a step, nerves zinging with aftershocks, then clapped his hands to his ears as the bird turned around and _squawked_ at him, a harsh sound at odds with its beautiful exterior.

The bird stared at Stiles, head cocked, with deep golden eyes that looked like they could see and understand everything that Stiles was and everything he would ever be. Stiles stared back, quiet for once, unsure of what he was waiting for. He was sure this was the firebird the old lady had spoken of – what else could it be? – and he remembered that she had said that it would ask him for something, a favor, and in return, it would give him guidance. He supposed he would get some words of wisdom for his life, perhaps, telling him what lay ahead in his future, or a clue as to what he was supposed to do next on this quest.

Or, best of all, maybe it would tell him something about his mom.

The bird opened its beak and Stiles froze, not wanting to miss anything.

“Oh, you’re _finally_ here,” it said, in an annoyed yet still melodious voice. “Took you long enough for such a simple task!”

Stiles immediately bristled and snapped, “Hey! You try finding something you’ve never heard of in a huge forest with nothing but the vaguest instructions to guide you!”

The bird huffed and said, “I’m sure I could do much better than you, and in much better style too.” It glanced at him disdainfully in a way that suddenly reminded Stiles strongly of Jackson Whittemore, resident douchebag and high school bully extraordinaire, and he had to stifle a sudden urge to laugh. “At least you made it, I guess, regardless of your shortcomings. The person before you – well, better not to talk about it.”

“Wait, you’ve been here before? What happened to the other person? Who was it?” Stiles asked, rapid-fire, curiosity ignited. “Also, the hell do you mean, my “shortcomings”? I think I’m doing pretty well here!”

The bird looked down its beak at him and made a strange whistling noise that Stiles assumed was a sigh, the same sort of exasperated noise Stiles was used to hearing from his dad.

“Yes, I’ve been here before. The old hag knows who owes her and she’ll milk it for as long as needed. The other man tripped on a rock and fainted barely five minutes into his quest, so at least you haven’t done that. Yet.”

Stiles took a moment to let that sink in, ignoring the fact that the firebird had clearly brushed past his question about his shortcomings, and then asked, “Is the old hag the lady – the babushka? Do you know what she wants me to do with—” he waved his hand at the pole and the cage, “this? All she told me was that I had to fulfil your request.”

The bird rolled its neck at Stiles, presumably since it couldn’t roll its eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart? Yes, the old hag is Babushka, but haven’t you figured out who she is by now? And as for _this –_ you must unlock my cage, without causing any other damage to it, and let me be free, and in turn, I will guide you to the next step of your quest.”

It leaned forward and pecked aggressively at a tiny door located on one side of the cage, with a small hook that kept it shut.

“Really? That’s it?” Stiles asked, suspicious. This seemed like the sort of thing that would have all sorts of traps and loopholes. “Why can’t you just open the cage yourself? Clearly it doesn’t hurt you the way it did me.” The memory of the pain was still fresh in his mind, even though it had faded and left behind only a bright red mark on his fingertips where they’d brushed against the cage.

“She’s done something to it so that I can’t move it, only someone else can,” the firebird said. “And you don’t really need to worry about loopholes in this thing. She’s in her _nice_ role right now, so she’s probably not going to be mean.” The bird shuffled on its perch and flicked its wings out quickly in a slash of bright light, conveying exactly what it thought about the babushka’s “nice role”, whatever that meant.

“Probably,” Stiles repeated to himself, and snorted. His curiosity was still raging, and he had a million more questions he wanted to ask the bird, and he couldn’t pick which one to ask first. Not the ones about his mom, though. He’d changed his mind about that as soon as the comparison to Jackson had popped up, and he didn’t want to hear the bird speak disparagingly about his mom, like it had for him.

He opened his mouth to ask the bird about who the babushka really was, but shut it at the incendiary glare it gave him. No time for questions until after he had done what was asked of him, then.

He stepped closer to the cage again, circling around it and trying to find a way to jimmy the hook open without having to subject his fingers to the pain again. He didn’t have anything useful in his pockets, no random toothpicks or napkins or the lock picking set his dad had given him when he was 12 and in his Nancy Drew phase, since he’d cleaned them out last night before doing laundry. Curse his attention to detail when it came to his hatred of litter in his clean pockets.

“C’mon Stiles,” he muttered to himself, trying to pep himself up.  “You can figure this out.”

The bird snorted loudly.

“You’re not helping,” Stiles said, narrowing his eyes at it. “You know I could just go back and leave you here, without opening the cage.”

“But you wouldn’t,” the firebird said, and shook out its feathers, creating little spots of brightness in Stiles’ peripheral vision. “She’s gotten to you, she gets to everyone.” It whistled a jaunty, superior tune at him.

Stiles grumbled back at it and started looking around the area surrounding the pole instead of replying. He kicked around a few pebbles and scrubbed his shoes through the grass. Perhaps he could use a leaf as a barrier, but the few dry leaves around the clearing crumbled to dust in his hands when he tried to bend them, and he definitely didn’t have the skill to climb up to the high branches of the trees around him to grab a few fresh ones. Plus, there was no guarantee they’d actually protect his skin.

He finally spotted a twig, a few inches long and curved in a convenient J shape at the end. He picked it up and scrutinized it, comparing it to the hook. It seemed like it would work, so he shrugged and went for it, pushing the twig between the bars and under the hook. The bird watched with interest, its eyes steady on his hands as Stiles jiggled the twig around. He was so close, he could see the hook lifting up, and he leaned closer, working the twig until the hook finally swung loose.

“Yes!” Stiles cheered, and lifted his hands up, tossing the twig aside and narrowly missing hitting the cage bars again. He did a little on the spot victory dance, and pointed at the bird. “I did it! Take me to the next place and then we can go our separate ways.

The firebird put a delicate foot on the door and pushed it open, and then slipped through. It seemed as though it almost shrunk itself, somehow, to come through the door, but Stiles blinked and the bird was out, flapping its wings to stay airborne and back to its previous size as if nothing had changed.

“Congratulations,” it said dryly, and then shook itself until a single radiant feather fell out. It floated a few inches in front of Stiles, just at his eye level. He glanced at the bird, questioning.

“Did you really think I was going to fly along with you?” the bird asked, its tone just a little mocking. Stiles rolled his eyes, but sighed in relief internally. Neither of them would have made it to the next location unscathed if that were the case.

“In exchange for my freedom, I give you this feather,” the bird continued, its voice taking on a formal tone. “It will guide you to your next task, and then it will be drained of its power, having completed its job.”

“Can I keep it after that or is it going to like, disappear into thin air?” Stiles asked. The bird _shrugged_ , somehow, and said, “Yes, you can. It’s not like you can do anything with it.”

Stiles grinned again and nodded. He opened his mouth to say thanks, and maybe blurt out a few more questions, but he barely got the first word out before the firebird flapped its wings once, twice, three times, and then flew away, so fast that Stiles barely saw it go.

“Looks like that’s all the thanks _I_ get,” he muttered, and checked his phone out of habit, finding a photo of [a cat sitting calmly on top of a wild boar](https://78.media.tumblr.com/cf1d6aa34cd45e7edfb14d6dfab751d3/tumblr_inline_p4as6syAnQ1s7enj9_500.jpg). He stared at it for a few seconds and then shrugged. He didn’t know where the babushka – or Babushka, the way the firebird had called her – was getting these photos, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Stiles stuck the phone back into his pocket and then turned around to find the feather. It was at the opposite end of the clearing, and it glowed softly with a similar warm light as the rest of the bird. He walked towards it, and the feather floated forward slowly, clearly leading him. Feeling confident in the feather’s abilities, Stiles followed it.

By the time the feather stopped and floated down lightly into his hand, Stiles was almost ready to fall asleep standing. The gentle breeze that had sprung up, the thickening forest cover that lessened the sun’s intensity, and the steady pace he’d been walking at, without any need to look for anything on his own, meant that he had completely zoned out.

He yawned, jaw popping, and tucked the feather into one of his pockets. Stretching, he turned to look around, trying to see the next creature he was supposed to find, the unicorn. He’d never heard of the firebird before he saw it, but he _had_ heard of unicorns, and he wondered if it would be anything at all like what he’d seen in pop culture.

Stiles looked for a few more seconds, and then paused, confused. There was nothing around here that looked like it could be a unicorn, or could be hiding a unicorn. Everything was just very green, covered in a thick layer of moss with various plants growing all on top of each other, their stems entwined and twisted.

He pulled the feather out of his pocket and squinted suspiciously at it. “Are you sure you’ve led me to the right place?” he asked it, turning it over in his hands. “I wouldn’t put it past that firebird to just leave me stranded in some random place in the middle of the forest. Although it did say that Babushka hadn’t put in any traps...”

Stiles trailed off and then jumped when _something_ moved, one of the mossy things he’d thought was a rock just moving up and up and up, until it stood a good foot taller than him. His jaw dropped when the thing shook itself, slowly at first and then faster, until the moss and the assorted plants were flung off in all directions (some of it unfortunately landing on Stiles), and an honest-to-god unicorn was revealed. 

He blinked and let his eyes rake over it. It had a smooth coat, silvery white, but covered with green and brown tracks from the plant matter. Its mane and tail were snarled with clumps of dirt and roots, but what really caught his attention was the horn, still miraculously clean, spiraling up out of the unicorn’s forehead, adding at least a foot to its height.

The unicorn turned its head towards him, black eyes piercing into him, and Stiles swallowed and moved closer.

“Hey,” he said, and then resisted the urge to slap himself. What kind of an introduction was that, especially to a _unicorn_?

“I mean, um, I’m Stiles? And I’m here to complete a quest?” he amended, and winced internally. Hopefully he wouldn’t be gored to death in the next few seconds for his weak first impression.

The unicorn sighed and said, in the most mournful voice Stiles had ever heard, “You’re at the right place. I’m Indrik, the one you’re supposed to meet, but I’m afraid I’m not going to be much help at all.”

It shook its head and closed its eyes sadly.

Puzzled, Stiles asked, “What? Why?”

“I have no sense of direction, and I’ve never done this before,” Indrik said, seeming to shrink under the weight of its words. “I’m sure I’ll just lead you the wrong way, and you’ll never reach the next part of the quest, and I’ll be dead because _she’ll_ kill me, and I’ll never be able to go back home.”

Stiles stared at it, speechless. Where was Scott when you needed emotional support and motivation? Stiles sucked at this, his usual strategy was to murmur something incomprehensible and slowly back away. If worst came to worst, he could offer a hug, since Stilinski hugs were legendary, but he wasn’t quite sure how to hug a 7 feet tall unicorn. Maybe one of the legs? He stepped closer to the unicorn but then changed his mind when he saw the size of the hooves.

He wavered for a moment, trying to think of what Scott would do in this situation. Say something reassuring, probably, something that could boost the unicorn’s morale, that didn’t sound condescending but still reached out…

Stiles was going to get trampled to death by an insecure unicorn, wasn’t he.

Still, he had to try something, so he took a breath and tried not to let his voice tremble.

“Um, well, she must have picked you for a reason, right?” he asked, and the unicorn looked at him, dubious. “She could have had her pick of unicorns, but _you_ were the one she chose. She must have had faith that you can do it.”

“Maybe,” Indrik said doubtfully. “But maybe she’s just waiting for me to mess up so that she can punish me. And then I’ll have brought shame upon my herd, especially since I’m the son of one of the herd’s best trackers, and everyone will laugh at me, and I wouldn’t be able to show my face back home. That’s why I was hiding. I thought that if you didn’t find me, you could make your way to the lake alone, or she would send someone else to help you, and let me be.”

Stiles hesitated, unsure how to proceed. He was familiar with anxious thinking, of course, and though he’d learnt how to talk himself out of an anxiety attack, his method was particular to, well, _him_ , and he had no idea how to apply it to someone else. Surely a unicorn wasn’t interested in hearing about the detailed list of all the Mets line-ups for the past ten years.

He surreptitiously pulled out his phone and was faced with a photo of [a chubby cat in a small wooden basket](http://world-of-cats.tumblr.com/post/162474974646) before he remembered his phone’s situation. Groaning internally, he put it back and tried to think about the various tips to reduce anxiety he’d seen floating around the internet. He spent tons of time researching the most random things, something had to stick, right?

While he was racking his brain, Indrik kept on mumbling, clearly thinking up the worst-case scenarios and repeatedly going over them. Glancing at him out the corner of his eye, Stiles decided to just jump in and hope for the best. Stressing about de-stressing the unicorn wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

He moved close to Indrik again, enough to put a hand on one towering leg. Decidedly not looking at the hoof below, he said, “Hey, buddy, c’mon, listen to me.”

Indrik sighed, a deep exhale Stiles could feel through his entire body, and then reluctantly turned to make eye contact with Stiles.

“Breathe with me, alright?” Stiles said, and then guided the unicorn through a few breaths, puffing out his chest to show his exaggerated inhales.

“Okay, now – you said you’re bad with directions, right? And this is your first time doing this? Why don’t you tell me a little bit about how you got selected for this?” Stiles asked. He mostly wanted to get him to calm down, but he was also genuinely interested in the answer. There seemed to have been quite a few people who’d done this, including his mom, and he wanted to know if the same types of creatures were selected each time, or whether there was a whole range of beings Babushka could call upon, and if any of them remembered his mom, and a whole host of other questions besides.

“Um, a few years ago we were being driven out of our territory by some humans…I think they wanted to cut down the forest?” Indrik started, tentative, and then just blurted out the rest, as if he had held it in for too long.  

“We were really nervous because we need specific territories to call home, and we’d just moved here some time ago, and started integrating part of this forest into our territory, but then suddenly everything started going wrong for them, and they abandoned the project. Then _she_ visited us, and told us that she’d disrupted the humans’ work, and in return, all she wanted was one of us to join her once or twice a year for a short task and that would be it. I’m the third one she’s ever selected…she came to our territory and looked at us and then she just picked me out of the blue, even though everyone knows I’ve no sense of direction! I get lost just trying to find food!”

Indrik heaved as he reached the end of his outburst, and then bent down on all fours, rubbing his face into the grass underneath.

Stiles processed that for a moment, and then said, “Well, maybe she knew that too, but she wanted to help you get your confidence up! I assume having a sense of direction is important for a unicorn, right?”

“Yes,” Indrik said, sounding ashamed. “It’s why I’m still living with the elders even though most unicorns my age have found a new area to stay in within our territory.”

“So maybe you’ve been overthinking this, because of your, uh, your situation at home!” Stiles said, as inspiration struck. “Why don’t we just walk together, and you can tell me more about your life, outside of directions and stuff, and maybe, if you don’t think too hard, you’ll lead me right where I need to be!” He tried to sound as enthusiastic and confident as possible, and crossed his fingers where the unicorn couldn’t see.

Indrik tilted his head, considering, then said, in a marginally less morose voice, “Okay. As long as you tell me about your life too.”

Stiles fist-pumped internally, and said, “Awesome! Let’s go.”

Indrik picked a random direction, and they started to move, walking steadily. Stiles kept up a constant stream of chatter, throwing in questions for Indrik about life as a unicorn that he answered readily enough, now that his mind was no longer on the actual task itself.

They were walking along in companionable silence when Stiles finally mustered up the courage to ask about his mom. Indrik was nice, and ready to answer almost all of Stiles’ questions – well, the one about unicorn reproduction had been avoided by Indrik just refusing to respond, but still. Stiles hadn’t taken it too personally. He had Google, after all. But yes, Indrik was nice, and Stiles was sure that asking him was a much better idea than asking that firebird.

“Hey,” he started, then paused to collect his thoughts. “Do you – do you know if one of your herd ever helped my mom in her quest? Her name was Claudia…”

“Your mom?” Indrik asked, and then thought for a minute. “No, I’m sorry…if she went through more than seven years ago, none of us ever helped her. We only started doing the tasks around that time, so I don’t really know anything about earlier than that. You might ask the gray wolf though, the one who’s going to help you with your final task. Apparently the wolf family has been here for ages and they know a lot about this area.”

“Oh, okay,” Stiles said, and nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. When Indrik had mentioned that the herd had met with Babushka only a few years ago, he’d already started doubting that he would get anything useful, but he had still hoped. It wasn’t Indrik’s fault, though, so he distracted himself by asking more questions, and wished fervently that the gray wolf would know more. 

By the time they reached a lake, _the_ lake, his mosquito bites had faded, and so had the sunlight, as it was nearly dusk. The lake was surrounded by trees on all sides that crowded up too close to the shores, like it had been placed there somehow, not formed naturally. Looking at it for too long sent a shiver down Stiles’ back.

Stiles looked away, breaking the spell, when Indrik said, prancing around on all four hooves, “I did it! I made it here, and I didn’t get lost and I helped you! Thanks Stiles!”

He grinned and cheered, and hugged Indrik around one of his massive front legs once he stopped gamboling in joy, and Stiles could touch him without being afraid of accidentally getting kicked in the head.

“I’m so proud of you!” he said, and stroked down Indrik’s forelock. Somehow, instead of getting dirtier during the walk to the lake, Indrik had actually gotten _cleaner_ , and his coat gleamed silver in the evening light.  “See, you had it in you, you didn’t have anything to worry about!”

Indrik nudged him, gently, and said, “All thanks to you!”

They stood there for a few moments, relaxing and basking in the calm, until Indrik lifted his head and twitched his ears, listening to something in the distance.

“I need to go now,” he said, stepping away. “I can hear my herd and… _her_ calling me. Good luck, though, Stiles! Please visit once you’ve finished your quest! I’m sure my herd would love to meet you.”

Indrik nudged Stiles’ hand with his soft nose, and Stiles smiled at him, whispering a small goodbye and trying not to sound too bummed. He had really liked Indrik, had felt a strong sense of solidarity as they’d walked through the forest together, and it sucked to have to say goodbye so soon. Plus, he realized he didn’t actually know where in the Preserve the unicorn territory was. Well, maybe the gray wolf would know about this, too

He turned around to face the lake again, its surface smooth and glassy, not marred by any waves. He tried to ignore how unnatural that made it look and scanned around its perimeter. He didn’t see anything on his first try, but then a pair of red eyes shone out of the gloom, looking straight at him, and Stiles startled, slipped, and fell onto his ass.

“Jesus,” he said, and then repeated it, as the owner of the eyes stepped out, padding softly and surely towards him. It was a large wolf, not gray, as the name suggested, but black, with slight gray patches on its underbelly and legs. The eyes stared at him, unblinking, and Stiles stiffened, heart racing, trying to think of a next step.

Babushka’s clues for the firebird and unicorn had been pretty simple and straightforward: do what they ask, let them guide you to the next step. For the wolf, though, she’d said something different, something more than for the other two combined. She’d told him to _believe_ , to be true in his intentions, and to let the wolf come to him.

Stiles gulped and tried to keep her words in his mind as the wolf moved closer. He hoped he wasn’t stinking of fear too much as the wolf came close enough to smell him. He wasn’t _too_ scared, he doubted Babushka would let him get eaten so close to the end, but it was hard to keep his body relaxed and calm at the sight of a giant wolf sniffing him.

Even as the wolf examined him, sniffing down Stiles’ body, its nose kept a small distance between them, so that no parts of them were touching. The wolf slowed down as it got near the vee of Stiles’ jeans, and Stiles instinctively clamped his legs shut, batting the wolf’s head away.

“Nope!” he yelped, and then froze, realizing what he’d just done. His hand was still in the air as he chanced a look at the wolf’s expression. He couldn’t say for sure, but it looked – almost baffled, but not like, murderous, so Stiles unfroze and shuffled backwards a little bit.

They watched each other for a few long moments, the wolf’s head tilted quizzically, before Stiles realized the wolf wasn’t going to speak like the other two had. He wasn’t interested in playing a staring game either – he had really sensitive eyes, okay, which was a perfectly logical explanation for why he always lost to Scott in stare-offs. He took a calming breath and decided to just toss his questions out there. At least then the wolf would have to respond, in some way, shape, or form.

“So,” he started. “Um, you’re the last – this is the last task I have to do for my quest to be complete, but I’m not entirely sure what I have to do. Babushka didn’t exactly give me much to go off of in terms of instructions…which maybe you’re familiar with if you’re here?

“Regardless, um, I wanted to ask you a couple of things. The unicorn who led me here, you probably saw him – Indrik told me that your family’s been here for a really long time. Would you know if you or anyone in your family ever helped a woman on one of these quests? Her name was Claudia Lisowski and she—she was my mom.”

He paused, partly to let the wolf speak and partly to let himself recover a little. His voice had broken as he’d told the wolf who he was looking for. He hadn’t talked about or even thought about her so much in a long time, not even to his dad, and it was bringing up a lot of suppressed emotions.

The wolf didn’t speak, though. It just moved a little closer to him and narrowed its eyes at him, as if in concern.

After a few more minutes of silence, Stiles tried a different tack. “Okay, so maybe you won’t – or can’t! – tell me about my mom right now. How about the unicorns, though? Do you know where they stay? Indrik told me to come back and visit, but I don’t actually know where the herd’s territory is. This is probably the longest I’ve ever spent in the Preserve, since Scott, my best friend, wasn’t allowed to really wander in here. He has asthma, and it’s a lot better now than it used to be, but after a few failed attempts at playing first string lacrosse in high school, he’s found other activities that are better for him than running around in the grass…”

The wolf huffed as Stiles trailed off, realizing that he was digressing. It shook its large, shaggy head at him, and shuffled closer a bit. Stiles peered at it for a second and then said, “Do you want to hear more stories? Because I have a lot of stories, you know. One of them is bound to make you crack.”

He got no verbal reaction to that, as expected, but the wolf did tilt its head at him, as if asking him to go on. So Stiles shrugged and settled in, telling the wolf all about his childhood shenanigans and college misadventures, everything he got up to with Scott and the increasingly creative ways his parents, and then his dad had to deal with their rambunctious son.

The wolf didn’t say anything at all as Stiles rambled on, but it did move closer and closer incrementally, and it was eventually cuddled next to Stiles, his arm slung over its warm back, his hand stroking over the soft fur on its head.

He could tell from its expressions that it definitely understood what he was saying, and even more so from its reactions. Its body shook with silent laughter when Stiles said something funny, and grew taut with tension when he talked about something more serious. It leaned into Stiles when he talked about his dad or mentioned his mom in passing, a comforting weight, and it bumped Stiles with the tip of its wet nose whenever he said something snarky about it.

Eventually, Stiles voice was getting hoarse, and he wrapped up the story of how he got started on this whole mess of a quest and decided to take a break. He had no idea how long it’d been, and he was shocked to look up and see that the sky had grown almost fully dark, and the moon was hanging low in the sky, red and full.

“Oh crap, I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he told the wolf, who chuffed in response, and stood up quickly, brushing grass and assorted insects off of his shorts. “I have to get home soon, or otherwise my dad’s going to freak out and send a search party, especially since he can’t reach me. I don’t know what else I have to do with or for you, but – if this quest isn’t complete yet, I’d like to come back and talk to you some more. You’re a good listener, y’know.” He laughed a little.

He stretched, and realized abruptly that he was _really_ thirsty and hungry after all the talking and walking throughout the day. He didn’t have any food at hand, but there was water nearby. He looked at the lake again, but its surface didn’t look any less shady now. It was so still that the sky and the trees were mirrored in it perfectly, and if his phone was working (and not currently displaying a picture of [a cat biting the nose of a Kermit stuffed toy](https://78.media.tumblr.com/ec3bc3e036fdd024ed5ac9a4c289a42b/tumblr_inline_p4as6toH0F1s7enj9_500.jpg)), it would have been a lovely photograph. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers, and he jokingly told the wolf to catch him if he fell into the lake, and walked over to the water’s edge.

As Stiles was bending over, though, he heard a strange susurration behind him, and before his mouth could touch the water, strong hands wrapped around his biceps and pulled him back.

He was whirled around to come face to face with one of the most attractive people he’d ever seen. Dark hair, bright green-gray-hazel eyes, seriously intense eyebrows, a straight nose and a thin slash of a mouth, perfectly groomed stubble, and…and a very naked, very toned body.

Stiles quickly averted his eyes and managed to get out a “Who the hell are you?”

The man released his arms and stepped back a little, uncaring of his nakedness.

“I’m Derek,” he said, voice a little rusty, but still softer than Stiles expected from all of the tall dark handsome thing he had going on. “Um, Derek Hale. I was the wolf, and I just – you can’t drink the water in that lake, it’s dangerous. Also, I think you might be my mate.”

Stiles’ eyes widened and his mind whirred, even as his heart started galloping in his chest. “ _You_ were the wolf? Wait, does that mean you’re a werewolf or did Babushka just like, magic you into that shape? Does that mean the other creatures were also shapeshifters? And mate, is that like, like _wolves mate for life_ mate? Does that mean the quest’s complete? And why’s the lake dangerous? Also, why—”

Derek slapped a hand over his mouth and said, “Stop. Let’s take it one question at a time, okay?” He released him when Stiles reluctantly nodded yes and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Yes, I’m a werewolf,” Derek said, and tried to smile at Stiles, although it came out looking more like a grimace. “And yes, it’s mates like _wolves mate for life_ mates. But it’s not like permanent or decided right now or anything, you definitely have a choice in this. And um, at least from my end – yeah, your quest’s completed.” A blush began to spread slowly across his cheeks and the tops of his ears, and Stiles tracked it, completely floored by how – how _adorable_ it was.

“The other creatures weren’t shapeshifters, they’re in their true forms,” Derek continued. “The lake’s dangerous because it’s old magic, and you can’t ever tell what will happen if you drink from it, or even just touch the water in it. Um, about the unicorns –”

“Okay, wait, we can discuss that later,” Stiles interrupted. “I have more pressing questions right now.”

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him and Stiles said, “So was this entire quest thing just a set-up for me to find you? Or I guess for you to find me?”

Derek’s blush came back in full force and he rolled his lips, fidgeting with his hands for a moment before answering.

“Kind of,” he said. “I mean, for it all to work, for you to even get here, she had to see some kind of spark between us. But yeah, it was like a set-up. I guess Babushka likes to do this when she’s in a good mood and when she’s found people she thinks would be a good match. So I think from my end it’s been a success.”

He paused and gave Stiles a hopeful, curious look, and it was Stiles’ turn to blush. He would be lying if he said he couldn’t already feel _something_ that connected him to Derek, a fragile new thread joining them. There was a spark that had flared to life when Stiles had rambled on about his life and Derek had listened and reacted and not dismissed him off the bat, and it had only intensified now that Derek was in human form, and they were both eye to eye, on even standing.

“It’s a success from my end too,” he finally settled on saying, and it didn’t sound false or forced at all. Derek beamed at him, eyes brightening up.

“Good,” he said. “How about we get you some food and water, and we can talk more once you check in with your dad—”

“And you get some clothes,” Stiles interjected, his eyes still politely turned away but his cheeks flushing harder at the thought of all _that_ standing so close to him.

“—yes,” Derek said, a sly smile sliding across his face.

“Oh, shut up,” Stiles said, and Derek’s smile widened, his shoulder nudging Stiles’ in a move reminiscent of the wolf.

On a whim, Stiles reached out and grabbed Derek’s hand, and pulled him just a little closer. He leaned in – they were both of a height, and Stiles might even have been a little taller – and kissed Derek on the cheek, his lips grazing the stubble on his cheek.

“Okay,” he said, ignoring the way Derek’s cheeks had gotten pinker and his frankly too-bright smile and his own grin. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

“Babushka is _Baba Yaga_?” Stiles exclaimed as his dad and Talia, Derek’s mom, laughed at him. “How did I not guess that? That makes so much sense, oh my god.”

Stiles shook his head, leaned back in his chair, and reconsidered all his interactions with Babushka. He knew who Baba Yaga was, of course, his mom had told him a lot of Slavic fairytales and she featured in most of them. He’d just never thought she was _real_.

He sure had learned about a lot of things that weren’t supposed to be real today. He sighed, and Derek slipped his hand into Stiles’ under the table and Stiles turned to grin goofily at him, all other thoughts sidelined for the moment.

Derek had taken Stiles back to his family home, nestled at the opposite edge of the Preserve from Babushka – _Baba Yaga’s_ house. It was warm and inviting, and Stiles had relaxed immediately, even though he knew he was walking into a den of werewolves. Derek was with him, and Stiles had faith that nothing would hurt him as long as Derek was there.

He’d been introduced to Derek’s parents, Talia and Alexander, and his twin sister Laura, who had taken one look at him and then grinned toothily at her brother. Derek had blushed in response and refused to tell Stiles what that was all about, instead distracting him by showing him a map with various territories marked on it, including the unicorns’.

Stiles was informed that the rest of Derek’s siblings and cousins were currently out of the house, and though he was sure they were all very nice, talking to four eager Hales at one go was quite enough.

Alexander had fussed over him, plying him with food and drinks, while Stiles had called his dad and given him a brief overview of the situation and told him to come to the Hale house. He had worried that his dad would be angry, or at least freaked out, but the moment Stiles had mentioned Babushka his dad had laughed understandingly and told him he was coming right over.

While his dad was on his way, Stiles had asked the Hales all the questions he could think of about werewolves, wanting to know _everything_ , but particularly stuff that was relevant to Derek. Laura had flung herself into a comfortable-looking chair and added in commentary whenever her parents paused in an answer, and Derek grumbling at her in response, telling Stiles not to listen to her innuendo-laden interjections.

Turned out that Talia was the alpha of the pack, the leader, but she had recently passed on her power to Derek and Laura, grooming them to lead the pack in the future. Alexander was human, as were Derek’s two youngest sisters, Nora and Aurora, but the middle sister, Cora, was a werewolf too.

Stiles had side-eyed Derek hard when he heard all the rhyming names, and Derek had huffed.

“Don’t even start,” he’d said. “It was some stupid bet my mom made with my uncle, and now I’ve got cousins named Erik, Malia, and Evander, and Laura has sworn to kill the next person who makes a joke about it.”

Laura nodded in agreement and Stiles laughed. “I’m no stranger to name-related trauma,” he’d said. “I’ll tell you my real name one day and you’ll understand.”

“Your real name?”

“Yeah, Stiles is a nickname,” he said, and when Derek opened his mouth, Stiles shook his head, waggled his finger at Derek. “Nope, you’ll only find out what it is _way_ in the future. That Polish monstrosity isn’t something I’m telling you on our first da–our first meeting.”

Derek had smiled, then, hearing what Stiles had stumbled over, and let the matter go, only reaching out and pulling Stiles closer.

Stiles had been quizzing Talia and Laura about pack structure when his dad had arrived, greeting Talia like an old friend, and he had only been a little surprised to find out that his dad had known about the Hales being werewolves all along.

“Okay, mostly I’m just surprised that you managed to keep it from me for so long,” Stiles told him, poking his dad in the side.

His dad batted his hand away and then tapped his nose with a finger. “I’m the Sheriff for a reason, kiddo, and it’s not just my good looks.”

Stiles groaned and shoved his dad lightly, and then led him to the kitchen, where they’d all congregated. There, his dad had dropped the Baba Yaga bombshell when Stiles had haltingly brought up the question of his mom’s quest.

“So, was that how you and mom met?” Stiles asked, once he’d had some time to let that sink in.

“Yeah,” his dad said, smiling fondly, eyes lost in memory. “Your mom didn’t know that it was Baba Yaga, not at the start, but she’d figured it out soon enough. She had heard a lot of stories growing up, and it wasn’t too hard to work out once she had the clues. Anyway, she completed the quest – she’d actually worked with Talia’s brother for one part of hers, and a rusalka for the other, and at the end, I was there, tangled up in a net and with no memory of what had happened after I helped this nice old lady get her cat down from a tree.”

Stiles’ dad paused as everyone laughed, and continued. “Claudia helped me get out of the net, but not without laughing her ass off first, and once she explained everything to me – well, there was already a connection between us, and it wasn’t hard to believe what she’d told me was true, especially after Baba Yaga herself showed up and confirmed it.”

Stiles smiled, and tried to ignore the way his eyes had gotten all watery.

“I think mom had told me a little bit about this,” he said, his voice wobbling a little. “You remember the stories she used to tell? I don’t think she ever told me the whole thing but I do remember a part about an enterprising young woman having to save some guy who got himself all tangled up in a net like a fool – I guess that was you.”

His dad laughed, his eyes shining too, and nodded.

“She always told the stories so much better than I did,” he said. Stiles couldn’t stand the distance anymore, and crossed to where his dad was sitting. The Hales tactfully made quiet excuses and slipped out, letting Stiles and his dad hug it out.

Stiles buried his face in his dad’s shoulder, lingering for a long moment, and then pulled back, making sure to wipe his nose on his dad’s shirt like he always did. His dad flicked his nose in response, and Stiles laughed wetly.

“Well, I’m glad Baba Yaga found me too, then,” Stiles said. “It’s nice to – to have something shared between all of us again.”

His dad nodded in silent agreement, and they looked at each other, their expressions mirroring each other, until Derek knocked at the door of the kitchen softly.  Stiles looked over at him in relief. It had been really nice to talk about his mom again, without the memories and grief weighing down between him and his dad, but it had been a really long day, and he was ready to have some less emotionally draining conversations now.

“Hey, would you guys mind moving to the living room?” he asked. “My dad can clean up in here, and we can talk more there. I’m sure Stiles still has a bunch of questions he wants to ask.” He grinned at Stiles, revealing bunny teeth.

Stiles stuck his tongue out at Derek, but walked over and took his hand anyway. Derek’s hand was warm in his, and a sense of contentment filled Stiles as he led him into the living room and his dad followed. He _did_ have a lot of questions, still, and probably he and his dad would have to have a longer conversation back home; but for all that his day had started out with mosquito bites and seemingly fruitless trudging through the woods, it was ending on a much better note, a sign of a brighter future yet to come.

He squeezed Derek’s hand and received an answering squeeze, and somewhere outside, something that sounded a lot like Babushka’s delighted laughter drifted in through one of the open windows.

 


End file.
